I’ve forgotten you.

It’s been so long

That I couldn’t recall

The colour of your eyes

Even if I tried with all my might.

I’ve forgotten you.

The way you moved,

The way you talked,

The way you walked around.

I can’t even remember a hint of your smile.

I’ve forgotten you.

You’re just a dull, old memory

In my mind’s deep repository

Where things can never be found,

That’s where I’ve buried all my thoughts of you.

I’ve forgotten you.

Even the feel of your touch

That used to mean so much.

Yet, somewhere along the way

I’ve lost track of what you could do to me.

Now I’ve forgotten you,

By putting aside the blinding veil of love.

Yes, I’ve forgotten you,

That’s the song I sing to myself,

Because I’ve forgotten you,

Yet I’ll write of you

Till the day I die.

I’ve forgotten you.

(Oh, what a flimsy lie!)

For more poetry, please click  here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

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Coming Home

So, Dhananjay Bhati decided to post the other side of my story from yesterday titled “The Celebration” (click here to read the post). Read on below to know what went on in the mind of the guy over whom his lady love had been fretting all day yesterday.
Please let us know what you think about the two stories in the comments section. We’d be delighted to have your feedback!
Thank you for reading!

The Celebration

She frowned, deep in thought. It had been five months. Not a long amount of time by any measure. Yet, for a man who’d never loved before and for a woman who’d been hurt one too many a time, it was quite a lot.

She scrunched her nose, disliking every idea that entered her head. She needed to celebrate, for him, with him. Yes, she had had longer relationships before, but none that showered her with such selfless love, unconditional support and an infinite understanding of all her craziness.

He not only gets her, but he’s got her. And that fact, to her, made all the difference in the world.

It was almost midnight now and she had run out of ideas as well as the fuel to enable further thinking. There just wasn’t anything she could come up with that was worthy of the man and his love for her. She realised with a frustrated groan that she’d polished off an entire pizza and 3 bottles of beer in her quest for finding the perfect celebratory shindig. Her Google search history could put event planners to shame.

She heard the key turn in the lock on the front door. He was home. This time she let out an even louder groan.

He entered their room to find her sitting smack dab in the middle of the bed. Surrounded by empty bottles and an empty cardboard box, crumbs were generously spread all across the bedspread. There was also a pile of crumpled paper at the food of the bed. The corner of her mouth had a tiny bit of cheese hanging on. Her messy bun couldn’t be any messier. Her clothing, or rather his old tee that she’d sneaked away a month before and claimed as hers, was wrinkled and stained with ketchup and what looked suspiciously like beer spillage but could also be drool. Her laptop was dangling precariously over her foot, where she’d pushed it off moments earlier.

She looked up at him, all pouty and with a defeated air, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I messed up. I wanted it to be perfect. I’m so sowie!” She sobbed.
He smiled at the sight before his eyes. Walked up to the bed, scooping her up in his arms. Looking into her eyes he said,

“I’d never cherish anything more than coming back home from a long day at work, finding you in our home, on our bed, as adorable as the day I met you. Thank you, for being my gift. Happy five months, darling!”

The clock chimed the midnight hour. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and wiped away her tears, finally smiling after hours. She snuggled closer. Sliding her arms around his neck. “Thank you for making it back home in time.”
Nothing had ever felt like this much of a celebration before.

Update: Dhananjay Bhati decided to pen down the other side of this story to convey what went on in the mind of the guy above. Please click here to read his take on it.

How do you celebrate meaningful moments, that may or may not be a major occasion, with your loved ones? Let me know in the comments below! After all, the internet is all about exchanging ideas, isn’t it?

For more stories, please click here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

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Liberated by Love

Born free

Browbeaten into submission

She vowed never to

Let another capture

Her freedom again.

Broken hearted 

With a wilted trust

She vowed never to

Let another capture

Her feelings again.

Plastering a smile and

Mastering her poise

She vowed

To be her own saviour.

Healing her scars

And fuelling her resolve

He stood beside her undaunted

So she finally vowed

To Tether her life

To the man who freed her soul. 

Do you think love ties you down or sets you free? Let me know in the comments section down below. I’d love to hear your views on this!

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The First Dance

With nervous hands

And clumsy feet

He took the floor

For his first dance.


He felt her smile

Basked in her glow

And knew he’d be perfect

For it was their first dance.


Keeping his promise

And, surprisingly, his rhythm

He waltzed around the room

To the tune of their hearts.


Years passed and then some,

Yet age couldn’t tune his two left feet.

But they still find rhythm

When she’s close by

And spring forth a dance

To her enrapturing beat.

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Another lie,

Another sigh,
Days pass me by,

Yet here still I lie.

You seek refuge 

In empty words

That drain my soul

And burn my spirit.

Your subterfuge and duplicity

I’ve tried to meet

With love and simplicity,

Again and again, but of course, to no avail.

I wonder why,

You don’t just leave,

Why you choose to subject me

To all this grief.

I can see in your eyes

The truths that you hide

My voice dies in my throat

When I try to call you out on them.

Because I then wonder why,

Or what good it’ll do,

Since you’ve made your bed

And are lying in it too.

You’re far beyond

The point of no return.

So carry on, my darling,

Pile on the lies.

I’ll listen to them,

While sipping on my wine,

But I won’t be getting 

My lips wet anymore.

For more poetry, please click  here. Please leave your thoughts and comments down below, I’d be delighted to get a feedback. Thank you for reading!

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Coffee and the Wallflower

She had a coffee mug that read, “Don’t ask until I’ve had my coffee”. Very practical, very true and, of course, her favourite. She kept it at a very prominent place in her cubicle so that the message would never go unseen.

She had a scary aura around her. It was not just because she came across as stand-offish. There was this subtle kind of otherworldly tinge in her overall demeanor that screamed for her to be left to herself. No one bothered her much. No one stopped her in her path. Despite all this, she was still held in high regard and was the unanimously approved go-to person whenever someone was in a pickle at work. She will help you, no questions asked and she was never a credit monger. A few colleagues often wondered out of pure concern as to why she kept everyone at bay. She’d join them for office parties, sure, and for drinks after a hectic day at work, yet no one could say with confidence that she considered them her friend.
That’s just the way things were and everyone around had accepted it wordlessly.

Till one day, a new character entered their little drama of an office life. He was the official trouble-shooter and as such was supposed to work with everyone, without being restricted to any particular department. Further still, he was a partner. So he poked and prodded, then offered genuine advise. Soon becoming the favourite of the herd. They’d laugh and joke around him, completely at ease. If it unsettled her, this sudden change in dynamics, this new cog in the wheel, she never did let it show. She took his appearance in her stride and deftly worked around him. It did not escape anyone’s notice, however, that she’d never yet approached him.

After about three weeks of waiting, he walked up to her cubicle.

“So, have you?”

He asked nonchalantly.

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked, slightly disconcerted.

“You know, had your coffee yet?” He replied with a pointed glance towards her mug.

She was now entirely flummoxed. No one had ever dared take her up on the challenge before.

“Well, yes. Did you need something? You could have simply emailed like always.” She said while trying to get her bearings.

“So can I ask now?” He said with a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Wha-what?”, She was now very confused.

“I get to ask my question now, don’t I?” He smiled smugly.

“Ah, yes. Please go ahead.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

“Go out with me, will you?”

“Excuuuuuse me?” She almost shouted while standing up to pin him with a glare.

All activity had stopped around them. No one even tried to hide their interest in their conversation.

“I said, will you go out with me? Or do you need more coffee before I can ask you this again?” He enquired with all the calm of a quintessential cat.

“I, eh, well, er, umm, y-yes” was her fumbled reply. It was accompanied with a blush so deep, she had to avert her gaze and stare at her feet till the heat from her cheeks died down a bit.

“Alrighty-o then, I’ll wait for you in the parking at 7, if that’s alright with you?” He asked with the most dazzling smile. Of course, she could not see the smile because her footwear had suddenly become very interesting for no apparent reason.

“Okay” she managed to reply in a small voice after two attempts at clearing her throat.

People were staring at them with gaping mouths. The ice queen had melted in front of their very eyes. Men were internally curing themselves while the women were staring daggers.

All it took was a man bold enough to tear down her defences, truly look at her rather than what she projected and simple ask her; Voila! She was almost human again.

Not the Weary Kind

Nobody told her it was time to walk away,
It crept up on her like a scary surprise.

She was not the weary kind,

Yet nothing had prepared her for the sight

Of her heart scattered on the floor

Shattered into a million pieces.

Continue reading “Not the Weary Kind”

The Truth About Romance

It’s a lazy Sunday morning and she has decided to break her rule of not cooking on weekends. He is sitting patiently on the kitchen counter, waiting for the result of the storm she appears to be cooking up when something sticking out from between the folds of the newspaper catches his eye. 
Snatching it up, he proclaims, “Oh look! It’s one of those advertisements of a perfume called romance with a quiz to check your love quotient.”

“Throw it away”, she murmurs, clearly disinterested in such tomfoolery while squinting at the frying pan, willing the stuff inside to change colour like it should have around ten minutes ago.

“Ah, let’s see! How would you express/profess your love to your significant other?” He asks, clearly enjoying himself. 

“I wouldn’t”. 

“C’mon! What made you ask me out all those years ago? Was it my dynamic personality or my irresistible charm?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows for extra effect.

Finally, she turns around. “Let me recall, I think it was the allure of your Magnetic obliviousness to flirtation and your endearing cluelessness that required me to ask you out twice, even though you said yes the first time, just because you didn’t understand what it entailed. How’s that for an answer?” She smirks.

Not one to give up, he continues undeterred, “Tell me, what would you do when someone made you catch your breath or made your heart skip a beat? What would you do about those butterflies fluttering in your stomach, eh?”

“Digest them”, she deadpans.

Bursting out laughing, he cannot help but move towards his wife.

Needless to say, the questionnaire soon finds its rightful place in the trashcan right next to unrecognisable charred pieces of what could have been edible food.

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For the Love of Thunderstorms (Ceraunophilia)

One fine, Sunny and sultry summer morning, she whined, “You know what, it’s too hot to function around here!”

He, while hurriedly checking weather forecasts for her city, replied, “Well, it does show rain and thunderstorms for the coming ten days. You’re all set for some pleasantness.”

Two days later – “It’s not raining! The feels like temperature is 49°c and I’m just a melted puddle! To add insult to injury, it’s been pouring heavily in this other city just 500kms away! Not fair!”

“Hmm”, he ponders, “Feel like packing up your bags and chasing the rain?”

Honestly, he should get full points for trying. She is very trying, after all.

“No! What I feel like is having a stare down with a grey cloud to see who’s eyes start to water first!” She fumes.

He, very secretly and would not be caught dead saying it aloud, thinks she looks cute as a button when she stomps her feet even over video chats. He’s also pretty sure his woman could take on a mountain and emerge victorious by force of sheer grit.

“I’ll book the colloseum then, honey?”

Yep, he’s a good egg.

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